


Red Watch

by countessofbiscuit



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Republic Commando Series - Karen Traviss
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Cuy'val Dicks, Extra Overgrown Teenagers, Fi's Big Mouth, First Crush, M/M, Relationship Negotiation, Wet & Messy, intimacy issues, queer used as a slur (don't worry it's kal)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-05-15 18:31:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14795726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countessofbiscuit/pseuds/countessofbiscuit
Summary: “Regulating lust in the product was neither part of the original order nor our chief concern. We appreciate a challenge, but the spectrum of gene expression related to human sexuality is complex and highly contested even among our own researchers. The clones were made sterile, our best solution when biological urges cannot be turned on and off, as many clients assume. Humans are pack animals. They are compelled to reinforce social bonds through physical and sexual practices, aberrant or otherwise.”- Hali Ke, senior research geneticist of Kamino





	Red Watch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Variative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Variative/gifts).



> A hookup Traviss left out *blows kiss*

**Level 4 retail plaza, Quadrant B-85, Coruscant, 1320 hours, 380 days after Geonosis; Red Watch observing targets on foot**

The woman dithered, trying not to look at the troopers and failing miserably: Fi, like any clone, was exceptionally attuned to small gestures. Then she got up to walk briskly into the nearest shop.

“Maybe she owed Jango credits,” Sev said.

Fi shrugged and noted that the shop looked to be exclusively for females. The garments on display were truly bizarre. “Or we’re just not her type.” 

“So, smart-mouth, you going to follow her in there?” 

“Said I wanted to shop, didn’t I?” Fi crossed the threshold, one eye on the fleeing woman, one eye suddenly transfixed by a stringy red number that looked just his color.

“What, tell them you’re looking for a present for your girlfriend?” 

“Don’t push your luck.” His fingers made quick work of the delicate lace and he pocketed it almost without thought, registering the label— _clingsilk, nice_ —and the price tag like an elevation readout in the peripheral of his HUD. _Tax credits at work_. But he’d lost sight of his mark. _Fierfek._ “Is there a back way out?” 

 

**Qibbu’s Hut, entertainment sector — strike team operational house — 1647 hours, 384 days after Geonosis**

“Do you think Atin’s picked up any lekku sign yet?”

“What?” 

“Laseema. She can communicate with her lekku.” Fi watched Sev’s brow furrow as he rearranged some damp briefs on the balcony railing. “You know, Twi’lek head-tails—or were you too cool for school back then too? They’re supposedly very expressive.” 

Fi twiddled his fingers over his shoulders and then his hands fell to swaying to the beat of his latest glimmik earworm. He imagined how fun it’d be to have additional limbs to dance with—he didn’t do much of that, but something in Fi’s bones told him he should.

Sev scoffed. “ _Manda_ help us if you had three _shabla_ organs to annoy everyone with.” 

The operation HQ was quiet. Atin had left to canoodle with his blue girl downstairs just before Ordo burst in with the news that a woman Vau had dispatched into the Coruscanti oblivion had miraculously turned up for her shift at work. She’d been a little late, but it was still good going for a dead person. 

Ordo had swept out again, ever on the case, with Etain in his wake, leaving Sergeant Kal, Vau, and Jusik to continue their observation of the tagged Separatist suppliers via the 3-D holochart in the middle of the makeshift lounge. As if sensing Etain was no longer in the building, Darman had trundled out of bed and was having vague words with Kal. Fi wondered if sleeping with a Jedi conferred some kind of Force link, a receiver tuned into the mystic mob. 

More to the point, Fi sensed an opportunity. 

He and Sev were scheduled for another surveillance detail in eight hours, and if their tension wasn’t cut soon, Fi worried he might end up hanging from it. The tension was sexual, that much he’d figured out, at least on his part. It was like realizing that dead weight on his unbalanced deece was actually a scope no one had told him to look through. The new perspective shifted a lot of things. 

“I think you’d like me more as a Twi’lek. All quiet wiggling. Better uses for my big mouth.” Fi leaned against the railing, casually searching Sev’s face for any hint that he’d glanced through that scope too. 

Sev just wiped his hands on his tunic and turned to go back inside. “I don’t _like_ you at _all_.” 

“You say the sweetest things. It’s why you’re always crawling in bugs, not broads.” 

That stopped him. 

“ _Broads?_ ” Sev said over his shoulder.

“Girls. Ladies. _Females_ , if you want to be clinical about it like Sergeant Kal.”

Fi waited for Sev to commit himself in fighting back from this verbal corner. _Girlfriends or boyfriends, Sev. Tell me._

Sev’s lip curled a fraction. “He really did fuck you up.” Fi tensed. He hadn’t expected Sev to have such a strong feeling on the matter. Maybe Vau was more lenient than he looked. “You Omega mutts can’t speak proper Mando’a _or_ Basic.” 

_Oh._

“Kal didn’t teach me that,” Fi said after a beat. “I watched a holoshow with the _Fearless_ boys. They have a regular programming schedule and everything.” He trailed behind Sev through the door. “Might strong-arm Qibbu into installing a viewscreen up here. This red-dot drama just doesn’t have the same romantic hook, you know?” 

Looking at the holochart again reminded Fi that this was a serious op, not the abandoned “run ashore” he’d hoped for. But relationships now seemed on the table and Fi had caught sight of more undercarriages of every color and configuration in two weeks on Coruscant than even his creative imagination could have drawn up. He’d noted them with glee while bored out of skull on the office plaza recce; he’d spied a few on neighboring balconies; he’d seen some very graphic holos and adverslicks in the bar’s freshers; he’d even glimpsed Etain towelling off through a crack in the fresher door by accident. 

It was all interesting, but strangely unexciting. 

Sitting in the booth of Qibbu’s bar, however, pressed from shoulder to knee between Sev and Scorch, Fi had finally spied the bottom of that cavernous ache in his chest. He experienced a hyperawareness he’d only known in the coiled moments before a sortie, when the timing of a trigger pull meant the difference between raining hell and raising it. Everything solidified, even as Fi thought he might melt into the seat and through the fabric of Sev’s civvies. 

_I want … brothers. But not_ my _brothers._

On reflection, Fi thought it might have started with funny Ordo, with his swish skirt and baleful eyes that said if he ever did have to asphyxiate RC-8015, he’d at least be very sorry. 

Sev, on the other hand… 

Only a wisp of shoplifted undergarments, one size too small for comfort but just right for his purposes, had kept Fi’s arousal in check since Sev jabbed a finger in his ear and said “Rack time, Mouth.” 

Fi knew Sev didn’t mean _together_ , but he’d followed anyway. 

“Your skivvies will stink of strill and tihaar-soaked _chakaar_ if you dry them out there, son,” said Kal, noticing Sev’s entrance. “But you’re probably noseblind to that stench.” 

“They’re not mine, they’re Fixer’s.” 

Darman was still in the lounge. He looked asleep, but the chair he was sprawled in sat at an incriminating junction between the sightlines of both doors. 

“Tell Fixer to do his own washing,” piped Vau. “You aren’t his laundry droid. And go get some sleep. Need you sharp as an akk for zero-hundred.” 

Sev stiffened beside him. “Yes, sir.” 

No matter that Sev had been racking up kills off Kamino for over a year after Vau had cut his squads loose; that old nutter still held Sev firmly by the sack. Fi’s hope shrivelled a little. 

“That goes for you too, Fi,” said Kal, almost as an afterthought. 

The sergeant wasn’t looking in his direction, but Jusik suddenly was—not so much _at_ Fi as … between pieces of him. 

For all Fi knew of Jedi vision, the clingsilk around his hips could’ve been bleeding red through his blacks. He felt tethered, like his essence was being weighed up there on the carpet. 

_Does he know? Can he see how I’m calibrated?_

Eventually Jusik just smirked to himself and dropped his head back down to his datapad. Fi felt lighter again and bounced off after Sev. 

Sev had wandered down one of the hallways lined with bedrooms and all the sediment of temporary but protracted communal living: someone’s boots, pieces of a Plex, a few empty cookie bags, and a _get’shuk_ ball that had fought with Mird and lost. Niner’s room wasn’t on this corridor, and it showed. 

“Hey. Hey, Sev,” Fi began in a hoarse whisper, “so Bardan’s not telepathic, but do you think he can see _through_ things? I’d hate for SpecOp's finest to be caught in unflattering smalls.”

Sev snorted. “Move on. He wouldn’t look twice at your pathetic shebs. He prefers kissing Skirata’s.” 

“Ooh, rude _and_ lewd!”

Sev paused inside the doorjamb of a room that _wasn’t_ his and turned to give Fi a scowl that could upend a charging ronto. It didn’t stop Fi. 

“You Delta boys are a joy. But I wasn’t talking about _me_. When I’m not freeballing, I’m stunningly well-rigged.” 

“ _Fierfek_ , do you _ever_ shut up? Worse than some flush _chakaar_ ’s yapping bassa hound. _Fi-Fi_.” Sev gave a little whistle and patted his thigh as if to call him to heel. 

“I’d look fetching in a collar.” 

“You’re just panting for me, Mongrel Boy.” 

Fi struggled to keep his anticipation from getting the better of him. His blood was pounding in his ears and he would’ve bet Hokan’s armor that Sev could hear it, too. “That’s funny, ‘cos this is me and Dar’s room. Who’s on whose leash here?” 

Sev glanced around. It was dim, but Fi was sure if he’d been wearing his helmet and flicked to infrared, Sev’s face would be a white picture of embarrassment. Fi put his fist to his mouth to stop himself from gloating. He needed Sev in the game. 

“Your demolitions disaster stole my spiced warra nuts,” Sev replied after a heavy pause, trying to save face. An aimless rummage through Darman’s sheets and a few pointed inspections of drawers and cabinets added to the farce. 

“Well I hope he ate them all.” Fi closed the door with his heel and started to step out of his maroon fatigues. They were surplus to requirements and fugly as hell. “Don’t want you giving away our position later.” 

Fi narrowly avoided being cuffed by his own gauntlet as it was flung across the room. 

When Sev turned around, Fi was stripped down to his bodyglove. It was a comforting garment that he refused to shake, even when ordered into plainclothes. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door, bouncing the heel of one boot off the toe of the other like some anachronous chrono. Sev marched up into his face. The spicy heat from his breath stung Fi’s nose. 

“ _Move_ ,” Sev hissed.

“Where are your nuts, hard man?” 

Adrenaline seared through Fi’s limbs and his fingers decided to make a play. Why did anyone bother with alcohol when homegrown hormones were so potent? Maybe it was the genetic tinkering. Stims just made Fi feel antsy; this thrill licked every nerve, muscle, and hair follicle along his body to attention—especially in his groin. 

He hooked his thumb into the waist seam of his bodyglove. The strands of the clingsilk were still perfectly painted across his hip; Fi could just feel them on his fingertips as he slid the neoprene down, slow as you like. 

Sev’s eyes caught the small gesture. 

_That’s right, sniper. Get a lock on that._

The silence and warm tang of Sev’s scent, not to mention the sight of his throat through that open dart in his shirt collar, nearly killed Fi. 

When Sev glanced back up, it was with an unreadable expression, one Fi hadn’t yet seen on his brother’s face. Something between confusion and pain. Fi pushed ahead, drawing on reserves of cultivated confidence. 

“This would be wasted on a girlfriend, don’t you think?” He removed his thumb, letting the bodysuit reseal, and gave a demonstrative sweep around his inguinal area, where his stiff cock was bound in a beautiful arc towards his hipbone by the clingsilk and blacks. At least, it had looked beautiful _to him_ in the fresher earlier. “Notice how it doesn’t ruin my lines.” 

The look of realization melting Sev’s stern face was a treat. Fi would savor it till the day he kissed plasma.

Cautiously, like he was taming a narglatch, Fi brought two fingers under Sev’s slack jaw, grazing his thumb over the swell of his bottom lip; the skin was cragged, alternately moist and dry, chewed raw on one side. Fi imagined wetting that spot with his tongue. 

“Sev…” 

Sev jerked his head back. The moment went up in smoke and Fi braced for impact, finding himself hoping for a punch. Sev’s disdain sat okay with him, but milksop rejection might make him physically ill. In all fairness, Sev probably felt the same way about Fi’s soft nothings. Sev was all _heturam_ : the burn of peppers and tihaar and a bolt that just misses your face, a Mando mouthful that makes your eyes water and your balls wither. 

And Fi _really_ wanted a taste. 

He cracked a nervous grin. “You’ll learn not to tease me, _ner vod_. I always come out on top.” 

No one would’ve called Sev glib, but Fi was beginning to wonder if the attention had chased all the air from Sev’s lungs and out his tight shebs. He would’ve paid all the credits he didn’t have to flip Sev around and check. Sev shoved away from him, flattening Fi’s shoulders into the door with a thud. But he finally met Fi’s gaze. His eyes, blown and beseeching, gave away his position and set off a flare low in Fi’s belly. 

“... You wouldn’t be on top, _chakaar_ ,” Sev said. His voice had all the warning of a growl but the invitation of a whisper. 

And Fi’s knees almost buckled. 

He dropped into a kneel and rested his hands on the tops of Sev’s hard calves. 

“No, we both know you want Fi-Fi at your feet. Like a good boy.” 

The soles of Fi’s boots were pressed against the only barrier between them and the grumps down the hall, neither of whom would approve of this little stealth op. Kal would go spare on a number of principles, and Vau … well, he didn’t know _what_ Vau would think, the man was hard to read. But Fi had never heard him contradict Kal’s injunction on “queer osik,” and Vau would’ve tabbed across Eadu with Delta strapped to his back to traverse Skirata. At best, he probably wouldn’t want his top psycho screwing around during a mission. Jusik had been liberal with anechoic spritz inside and out—no one had heard Dar and Etain—but Fi vowed to keep himself quiet. He’d hate for his big mouth to fuck this up. 

There was an awful silence when Fi thought Sev might reconsider. Sev wasn’t wearing poleyns, but at this angle he wouldn’t need them to slot Fi’s teeth into his spine. 

“ _Fierfek_ ,” Sev cursed again with a ragged breath. 

His hands flew to his pants. 

Heat surged into Fi’s crotch as Sev’s fingers wrestled buttons. Commandos despised busybodies as a rule; he didn’t want to give the impression that he didn’t trust Sev to prep his own gear, so Fi just watched, riveted and hard. But the sound of nails scratching against body armor had him stifling a laugh. 

“You’re _still_ wearing a karkin’ guard? You are a glutton for punishment. Let’s set you free, _vod’ika_.” 

Sev slapped Fi’s hands away. “You’ll drop the ‘ika shit when I fuck your mouth, _ner vod_. Nothing little about it.” 

Fi _really_ wished he had his helmet set to record, because Sev’s dirty talk was becoming his new favorite track. He’d do HALOs over Mustafar to this tune. 

“ _Oooh_ , I like this game. Role play. You can be the smart-mouth shoving himself where he doesn’t belong, and I’ll be the silent one trying to prove myself by swallowing all the bitterness of life.” 

Sev groaned. “ _Fuck. You_.” 

“Please,” agreed Fi, eager to get involved now that Sev had unfastened his protective cup and pulled it out of his pants. He caught only a brief glimpse of the swell in Sev’s grey briefs—it looked good enough to lick—before Sev yanked himself out through the crotch seam. 

Fi could’ve cried, seeing his own arousal mirrored in low-lit reality before his nose.

Other than the acerbic scent of Sev’s damp erection, which Fi reckoned came down to his dangerous diet, everything was intensely familiar: the shade and breadth of the flushed head, the configuration of thick veins that roped down the gun-turret shaft, and even the way Sev held himself: his grip tight and solid but with his forefinger extended, poised just under the head as if resting on a trigger guard. 

The only thing that might’ve differed were the curls around Sev’s base—if they were as dark and trimmed as Fi’s, or if they were lighter and fluffier like the hair on Sev’s head? Fi couldn’t tell: the fabric hid Sev’s crotch and balls. On the upside, the grip of the seams could do some of the work on his brother’s root. 

Fi wasn’t sure how much of Sev he could take. 

He’d experimented with the odd piece of curved fruit, but fruit didn’t fuck back. Sev also might not work himself like Fi did—if the hard man worked himself at all. Maybe that’s why he was always so bloodthirsty. 

The head of Sev’s cock gleamed in the light, smeared with precome that was still bubbling from the tip. He couldn’t be too disappointed if Fi began by cleaning that up. 

Fi leant forward, fingers splayed atop Sev’s calves, and he licked gingerly at the smooth bulb. Salt and spunk tingled across the tip of Fi’s tongue as he slipped it up and over, down and under Sev’s dribbling crease, once or twice flicking moisture onto his own chin. He carried on like that for a long minute. Then he adopted the same swirling motion he’d used on that frozen sweet Kal had brought them, melting Sev even more into his mouth. Sev pumped himself few times and the skin of his hood dragged and stretched across Fi’s tongue on each upstroke. Between their combined efforts, Fi was soon lapping at Sev’s dripping cock. 

When Fi wrapped his lips around the head, Sev gasped like he’d been plucked from a vacuum. 

If he wouldn’t tolerate any softness around his face, Sev didn’t seem to mind the suckling kisses Fi bestowed on his dick. Finally, Sev released himself. His length came to rest, heavy and pulsing, on Fi’s outstretched tongue. 

There was a _smack!_ above Fi’s head as Sev threw his hands against the door. 

Fi glanced up. Sev was biting down hard on his bottom lip, his eyes squeezed shut as if in the most exquisite pain, his skin shining faintly with sweat. 

“ _F-f-f-f-i-i-i, please_.” 

Fi was conscious of his name. He was the first in his squad marked by the abridgement of his number; “8015” was too syllabic for his brothers’ groans and cries of exasperation. 

But he’d never ever felt more like _Fi_ , more like a person—not a commando, not a clone—than in that moment: Sev panting out his name, as if it came from somewhere deep inside.

 _I am Fi. And Sev is begging for_ me. 

Fi swallowed Sev whole, mindful of his teeth, until his nose nuzzled fabric. 

And he sucked. 

Another reedy, desperate sound escaped Sev. Being unable to respond was a torment. Fi had a hundred and one insinuating lines queued up on the back of his tongue, where Sev was doing a fine job of gagging him. _Worth it._ Fi applied his breathing exercises, swallowed, and answered the plaintive sound by undulating the thick length against the roof his mouth.

Sev reached for the hem of his tunic and pulled it up, holding it bunched in front of his mouth. The next time Fi could spare two neurons to flick his eyes up, the tunic was tugged up and over Sev’s entire head, like he couldn’t bear to watch or be watched. 

Fi let himself think it adorably funny rather than tragic and hoped one or both of them didn’t pass out. That would really be embarrassing. 

Sev’s torso, partially covered by an armored vest, heaved above him. He didn’t appear to have the same latticework of white scars across his brown skin as Atin, but there were a few—pale, dramatic, and straight as a bolt. Enough to remind Fi that Sev was almost a separate breed of commando; he hadn’t been trained at all like Skirata’s squads—he was raised on the edge of Vau’s cane. 

Sev was so _different_ , for all that he was the same. The thought made Fi light-headed. He jolted with renewed _want_ as if struck.

 _I am so messed up._

He chose instead to study the trail of hairs that bisected the vee between Sev’s hips and dropped down into his skivvies. It only made Fi aware of his own painful erection. The clingsilk lived up to its name; he’d probably be shooting wide for the remainder of his brief life. 

Peeling his sweaty palms from Sev’s calves, Fi tucked the fingers of one hand into the armor plate affixed to Sev’s right thigh. Sev wasn’t pressing into him, he kept as rigid as a strut, but Fi felt more in control of the situation; it also allowed him to tug at Sev’s hips himself, settling into a gentle rhythm as he nursed Sev’s shaft. 

The other hand Fi stuffed down his blacks. He winced as he eased his cock to noon. With the heel of his hand, he massaged away the ache of strained arousal; the warm friction soon had him rutting up in pure pleasure, like Mird into the sofa cushions. 

Watching Sergeant Kal wrestle a randy strill off the couch yesterday, all six of it clawed feet tangled in the loose weave of the upholstery, had made Fi cry with mute glee. Even Atin had looked amused.

 _Shab_ , the places his mind went. 

Sev, pretty, dangerous _Sev_ , was up to the hilt in his mouth—yeah, he was allowed to be smug about that—and Fi was thinking about Mird. 

_Don’t laugh, di’kut._

He focused on breathing steadily in and out of his nose and sucked down hard, milking a little more of that stringy sweetness from Sev’s cock. Sev choked, his thigh quivering against Fi’s fingertips. 

If he didn’t stop stroking _himself_ , Fi was going to drop early like a loadmaster late for a caf break. The epicenter of pain had descended from Fi’s dick to the fronts of his own thighs as he held himself in a backwards slant. They were on fire. But when Sev widened his stance, planted the insteps of his boots against Fi’s knees, and fell to rolling his hips at an amazing angle down into Fi’s mouth, he could’ve pressed a larty for thirty. 

With his arms braced against the door, Sev was spread out and stretched like some kind of goddamn angel. Or, with that tunic pulled taut over his face, like some kind of wraith. 

Sev rocked into him. His balls pillowed against Fi’s chin with every thrust. Fi wanted very much to pop those into his mouth, too, and work the swollen rounds till Sev squealed. 

As it was, Sev was whimpering faintly. Fi regretted his lack of foresight for a second time; a soundbite of Sev keening would’ve made a prime souvenir from his holiday on Triple Zero. 

Fi dithered. He was chafing to know how the hard man shattered. But should he draw Sev out for as long as possible and let his big mouth do the honors? 

_Kote_ was one thing, but the ache in his jaw decided the question. 

_“A commando isn’t all Katarn and fancy specs. Your hands are a force multiplier, son.”_

Fi twisted his sergeant’s lessons all the time, what was perverting one more.

Sev was setting the tempo now, rapid and desperate. Fi let go of his armor and shoved his left hand into his own crotch. 

They were encouraged to be ambidextrous in every respect. Fi had taken that to heart, if only to give himself something to do during those extended exercises on Rothana and Pzob. _SERE? More like_ sheer _boredom; survival may be all in the mind, but an eight-year-old cadet will tell you it’s all in the wrist too._

But now wasn’t the time to assume he was above skills atrophy. Fi reassigned his right hand—naturally dominant, warm, and a little tacky—to the more important job of working Sev, hot and engorged under his palm.

Sev cursed. Then he actually scrabbled for a grip on the back of Fi’s skull. Fi grinned around Sev’s cock and wished him luck. He was a _good_ soldier boy, and he couldn’t _wait_ to show Sev just how seriously he took the grooming standard. Fi’s erection greeted the renewed attention by squirting a little more; the wetness seeping into his grip encouraged a new fantasy: Sev’s curly head bobbing into his trimmed lap, nursing him dry and boneless, red lace tangled between his callused fingers— 

_Haar’chak._ That did it. 

With a hot spasm that reached his eyelids and a choked moan, Fi creamed all over his hand. The force of his orgasm sent his forehead punching into Sev’s gut, before the blissful recoil almost wooed him into relinquishing Sev altogether. 

_No brother left behind._

And he wasn’t about to crumple at Sev’s feet. It wouldn’t be a good look—for him or Omega squad. 

Through the euphoric daze, he willed himself to maintain pressure on Sev’s length. Sev kept up the pace. Fi’s strength ebbed, but he extended his thumb, eager to try something. Nestling his fingertip into top of Sev’s shaft, he stroked the pruny folds under the head. Then Fi began to tease the sensitive triangle of flesh with wet, rapid flicks of finger and tongue. 

Just when he was starting to pity himself for coming at the very thought of Sev sucking him off, while Sev had the staying power of a Wookiee on uppers, Sev’s hips froze on a downswing. Then they shuddered hard against Fi’s face. 

Sev made no sound. 

The only warning Fi had was the break in Sev’s rhythm before his mouth was awash in Sev’s come. It hit the back of this throat like hot plasma. Fi forced himself to swallow what he could, damming the remainder with his lips locked tight around Sev’s trembling cock. He didn’t want to spill _any_ of Sev, didn’t want him thinking his pleasure was anything gross. But it _was_ vaguely bitter, with a consistency like microwaved bacta—and there was a lot of it. 

Fi was also unprepared for Sev to collapse down on top of him. 

Sev slipped sloppily from Fi’s mouth as his legs gave out. His armored vest scraped down Fi’s face. It hurt like a banthafucker, but Fi was trapped, and the rational part of his mind didn’t want Sev landing flat on his knees. 

Fi’s shoulders thudded against the door and his hips canted to one side under Sev’s weight. If Fi hadn’t already plucked his hand from his soggy blacks, they would’ve both gone tumbling sideways. As it was, he was able to brace himself on sticky fingers long enough to twist his aching legs out and under Sev’s, seating himself down against the door. 

Fi brought his languid brother down into his lap. Somewhere between his pride and his medical training, he wondered if Sev hadn’t actually fainted.

Senseless yakking would rouse him, even if it ruined the tender moment. 

Sev was splayed out against Fi’s chest, his chin propped up on Fi’s shoulder, arms dangling out to the sides. Fi’s biceps were stuffed under Sev’s armpits, keeping his brother close and vaguely upright.

Fi’s entire chest thrummed with two heartbeats and something inside him twinged. 

Yeah. He needed to start talking. 

“Now that’s what I call a happy ending.” Fi bumped his head playfully against Sev’s. 

There was no reaction, only a faint sigh that might have been a sniffle. Hard to say with that tunic still wrapped over his _shabla_ skull. Well, if Sev liked squeezing off to asphyxiation, Fi wouldn’t rib him for it. Maybe they could explore that properly another time. 

“ _Gar shuk meh kyrayc, ner vod, _” Fi continued, affecting an amusing accent as he pulled the fabric back over Sev’s curls.__

Sev allowed the gesture, which was promising, but he immediately turned his face away, which wasn’t. Fi felt foolish. How soon the intimacy of kissing Sev’s cock was forgotten; now he wasn’t content with an embrace.

He’d just opened his mouth to talk away that feeling when Sev spoke.

“This isn’t one of your holoshows, Fi.”

His voice was flat and listless, the set of his jaw heavy against Fi’s shoulder. Fi jostled him a bit. “Yeah, that was _much_ more graphic.”

“No happy endings.” 

Oh. 

Fi wasn’t sure if his false cheer was up to the task of buoying Sev’s spirits. But he’d rather not think about what brought on this morbid mood. 

“I dunno,” he began, taking the opportunity to card his fingers through Sev’s hair, “Dar and the General—”

Sev finally stirred. He pulled back and held himself at arm’s length, staring Fi square in the eye. “You really don’t get it, do you?” 

“What?”

“I can’t be your _girlfriend_ , Fi.” 

Fi knew what Sev meant. But he deflected anyway. He didn’t like this drama at all. “I won’t perch you on my lap at the bar, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Oh, but he would, given half the chance—wear him like _beskar’gam_ , invincible, handsome, and hard. And uniquely _his._

Sev ignored him. “Vau’s got a strill’s sense. He’ll flay us alive if we make this a habit.” 

_Let’s. I could get addicted to you._

“Sergeant Kal wouldn’t let—” 

Fi’s reply was strangled by a sudden clench around his _gett’se._ Sev wasn’t messing around.

“You want to go ask your precious _Kal’buir_ for his blessing?” Sev jeered. “Go ahead. I won’t wait up.” 

Fi hardened in spite of himself, a flush reaching his ears. Playing dumb was stupid, but the truth was worse. Sev pushed away, untangling from their embrace and tucking himself back into decency as he stood. 

“And neither should you,” he added, hauling the door open and shoving Fi aside. 

It slammed shut under the slump of Fi’s shoulders. He stayed there for a while, until the thought of Darman returning to find him soiled and moping on the floor sent him crawling into bed. It wasn’t very _mandokarla_ —even by Fi’s confused standards, much less Skirata’s. 

He didn’t want to think about it.

So Fi jerked this new ache away until he dozed, with only the taste of Sev clinging to his teeth.

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to kaasknot for the beta and for concurring that guys in crew cuts and lacy nothings are the best.
> 
> “Gar shuk meh kyrayc" = You're no use to me dead.
> 
> (The "observation on foot" section at the beginning belongs almost entirely to Traviss, I just took some colorful liberties and editing was done to accommodate this; everything in Qibbu's hut is my own.)


End file.
